


Start Again

by archersand



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, At least Ashton made it in this one a little bit!, But not much gosh darn it, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mugging, gratuitous use of Jet Black Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:41:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26352826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archersand/pseuds/archersand
Summary: There was a boy panhandling on the corner, sat on the concrete ledge surrounding the grimy fountain, playing the guitar. The guitar case propped up nearby was almost dismally empty, a few crumpled dollars bills and scattered coins the only things inside.Luke didn’t really have time to stop and listen. Soon his bus would be pulling up and he hadn’t even made it to the stop.And yet.The boy was singing, as Luke approached the words became more clear though the song was unfamiliar.“...see a war, I wanna fight it. See a match I wanna strike it. Every fire I’ve ignited, faded to gray.”His eyes were fixed steadily downwards, watching his own fingers make the chords like he couldn’t bear to know who might be watching. Luke let himself take several more steps closer, away from his bus stop.
Relationships: Calum Hood/Ashton Irwin, Michael Clifford/Luke Hemmings
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I swear this was supposed to be a fun, lighthearted attempt to write something short inspired by Jet Black Heart. It turned into a 8,000 word analysis of my struggles with my own mental health situation.   
> Fun!   
> Lighthearted! 
> 
> Here's the disclaimer: obviously I don't know anyone in 5 Seconds of Summer and this isn't me speculating on any of their mental health situations. If they ever read this (oh Jesus can you imagine?) I hope they'd see it as a work of fiction featuring their faces and really not a whole lot else.

There was a boy panhandling on the corner, sat on the concrete ledge surrounding the grimy fountain, playing the guitar. The guitar case propped up nearby was almost dismally empty, a few crumpled dollars bills and scattered coins the only things inside. 

Luke didn’t really have time to stop and listen. Soon his bus would be pulling up and he hadn’t even made it to the stop. 

And yet. 

The boy was singing, as Luke approached the words became more clear though the song was unfamiliar. 

“...see a war, I wanna fight it. See a match I wanna strike it. Every fire I’ve ignited, faded to gray.” 

His eyes were fixed steadily downwards, watching his own fingers make the chords like he couldn’t bear to know who might be watching. Luke let himself take several more steps closer, away from his bus stop. The boy’s voice changed unexpectedly, taking on a deep intensity of emotion.

“But now that I’m broken. Now that you know it. Caught up in a moment. Can you see inside?”

His clothes were old and full of holes. It might have looked artfully done, except for how skinny he was, how it was too cold for his thin jean jacket. How his hair hung tangled in front of his eyes. 

There was the screech of brakes from behind Luke. He spun to see his bus pulling up. As he dashed towards it, he heard the chorus of the song gearing up, only catching the beginning before he was out of range.

“Cause I’ve got…”

Got what? Luke wondered as he found a place to sit on the bus. He tried googling the lyrics he’d heard without luck. All day he heard the song playing over and over in his head. Every time he got to that chorus, it annoyed him more and more. He wanted more of the song, he wanted to know what it was all about. 

Later in the week, at his singing gig at the pub down the street from his apartment, Luke put it to his small but loyal audience.

“Help!” He said laughing, “I heard like, a tiniest part of a song and I need to know what it is.” 

He went right into the part he’d figured out the chords to by trials and error. He sang just the little bit he’d over-heard, then looked up hopefully. “Anybody? Anybody? Ah man, what am I supposed to do?” 

The piddly crowd laughed, sympathized, cheered. 

It became part of his regular set, until he started improvising a transition into another song to make the bit last. Then he stopped even mentioning that it was the beginning of another song, just enjoyed changing up the transition at every show. 

“Cause I’ve got...thick skin and an elastic heart.”

“Cause I’ve got...friends in low places.”

It was like a fun game. It didn’t mean anything. 

Luke kept looking for the ragged boy at the bus stop, his shoes with a hole big enough to see his dirty socks. A bag slumped against his side but otherwise without possessions. But the boy didn’t appear again. So Luke kept singing the snippet of song as his venues got bigger, the crowd filling the floor, laughing along as he sang. 

“Can you see inside? Cause I’ve got...a lovely bunch of coconuts.”

“Cause I’ve got...the power!” 

Until one set, the crowd laughing already as he began, the night seizing and roaring bright, the biggest crowd he’d ever drawn, he began the traditional bit.

“Cause I’ve got...a dream. I’ve got a dream” 

He was singing merrily along when a boy, tall with impressive muscles, pushing his way through the crowd, forcing his way onto the stage. He had dark hair, dark eyes, all of him intimidating and large. 

“Where’s Michael?” He yelled once Luke had taken several steps back, clutching his guitar in front of him like a shield. “Where is he?”

“Who’s Michael?” Luke managed. This had never happened to him before. 

“He’s not here? Then, you’ve got some nerve, singing his song. Stealing it, turning it into a joke.” 

“That’s not, I’m not-”

“You don’t even know what that song is to him. Here you are playing it as a bit in your little show.” Security had grabbed at the intruder’s arms but he shook him off easily. “That song is his insides all scraped out into the open and you're putting it together with whatever bullshit you can find on the internet? You think that’s what he’d want?”

“I-I didn’t know-I didn’t think-”

“You’re the worst kind of entitled asshole. You didn’t even think about what it might mean to someone else.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know-”

The crowd was booing now. They’d caught the whole exchange through the microphones. The boy was being pulled off stage by more security guards then Luke had ever seen. When he was gone, off the stage, Luke tried to continue his show. But he wasn’t sure where to pick up, how to act. He felt off-centered all night. And the crowd was now solidly against him, watching him fumble through song after song with sullen eyes and downturned mouths. At the end of the night, he went on twitter and saw a video of the conversation that had been posted and already re-posted and re-posted. The whole thing caught on camera, the boy on stage, his fingers pointed accusingly at Luke. Luke not saying anything really in his defense. 


	2. Chapter 2

At his next show, he didn’t waste any time. He started right in with it.

“Some of you might have seen the video from last week, about the song I was singing.” He bit at his lip. “And I want to say, to the person who wrote that song, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. It doesn’t matter. At the beginning, I really did just like the song, I did really just want to find out how the rest of it went. I guess I lost sight of that at some point. I did get entitled, I did think of it as mine. When obviously, it was never mine. So. Michael? Wherever you are out there, I’m sorry, man. It’s your song. I had no right. I’m really sorry.” 

He said it over and over, at all his shows. He was waiting, he knew, for maybe Michael’s friend and Michael himself to say it was ok. That it was fine. He was forgiven. But that didn’t happen. And how long was Luke supposed to be sorry? How long was he supposed to stand in front of people repeating how he’d been wrong? When would it be enough? 

Luckily, feeling guilty led to Luke not feeling social, which led to him wandering around the empty streets, trying to talk himself out of feeling bad. Somewhere near the park, he heard a familiar voice singing, the strumming of a guitar. 

“Now I’m holding on for dear life. There’s no way that we can rewind.”

Luke turned the corner. It had been months. It was cold and wintery, especially with the oncoming night. But there was the boy, in the same jean jacket and ripped flannel, holey shoes and greasy hair. 

“Maybe there’s nothing after midnight, that would make you stay.” 

Luke crept closer. The boy’s eyes were closed. 

“But now that I’m broken.” the part Luke knew so well. “And now that you know it. Caught up in a moment.”

The boy looked up and froze, his eyes fixed on Luke. 

“Don’t stop.” Luke took two quick steps forward and it made the boy tense, his muscles all ready to flee. “I heard you sing this song ages ago. I’ve been dying to know what comes next.”

“Really?” He sounded incredulous. 

“Yeah,” Luke dared to come closer still, to sit just a few feet away on the concrete ledge. “Here. See. The next part goes: can you see inside? And then it gets to the part I don’t know. It starts ‘Cause I’ve got..’ Got what? It’s been killing me.”

The boy laughed. His laugh was nice, loud and undeniable. 

“I’ve got a jet black heart.” he sang. “And there’s a hurricane underneath it, tryin’ keep us apart. I write with a poisoned pen, but these chemicals moving between us are the reason to start again.” he stopped. “You really heard me sing that?”

“Yeah,” It was dark, night falling. Luke was shivering and he had a winter coat on. The boy had to be freezing. “I’ve been singing it at shows, when I have them. But only the parts I knew. Which wasn’t much. Your friend was mad at me, for singing it without your permission. He said I was making it into a joke, and like, he wasn’t wrong. And I’m really, really sorry.”

The boy looked confused for a second but not mad. “My friend? Oh, Calum, probably huh? Was it Calum?”

“I don’t know.” Luke said. “He didn’t give a name. But maybe you might want to come sing it with me? I have a show Friday at the Corner Bar on Clements. Come sing it.” 

The boy shook his head regretfully. “You don’t even know me. You can’t want that.”

“I do. I do want that. I’m Luke.” Luke reached for the boy’s hand to shake. “It’s Michael, right? Your friend said that song was Michael’s.”

“Yeah.” Michael said. “It’s mine.”

“Come sing it. I didn’t mean to steal it. Say you’ll come.”

“You just want me to come sing it so you can stop feeling bad for singing it without my permission.” 

“Yeah. Say you’ll come.” Luke had been looking for this boy for so long. He’d forgotten the details about him, the way he curled around his guitar protectively. The way his eyes looked so wide, so direct. “Corner bar. 8:00. Just come.”

“I’ll think about it.” Michael said. 

“Think about it.” Luke said, “and then come.” 

He stood up slowly. He knew when he’d overstayed his welcome. 

Michael looked up at him. He looked all washed out, like life had been working away at all his colors.

“Ok. I’m going now.” Luke turned away. He looked back before he turned the corner and Michael was still looking at him. Luke raised his hand a little, the tiniest of gestures, then Luke was around the corner and Michael was out of sight. 


	3. Chapter 3

Friday, at Corner Bar, Luke started his set slowly. He sang classics with easy melodies. He knew he was distracted, scanning the room constantly for Michael. Halfway through his allotted time, he looked off stage right and there was Michael standing in the shadows. Michael raised his hand in the same gesture Luke had left him with earlier in the week. Luke wrapped up the song immediately. He turned triumphant to the crowd. 

“Ladies and gentleman, I have something very special for you. A few weeks ago, I was called out, rightfully, for singing a song without giving the artist credit. Tonight, he’s here with us and if we cheer real loud, he might come out and sing it for us.” He started the applause and the crowd responded enthusiastically in kind. The roar was almost overwhelming. Luke waved his hand toward Michael, come on, come on, come here. 

Michael took a step into the stage. He looked more put together under the stage’s bright lights. His hair was all contained under a beanie. He was wearing a long hoodie and loose pants and glasses with thick black frames. The effect together was incredibly soft. As he neared Luke, Luke pulled his guitar off and held it out. Michael looked uncertain. 

“It’s ok,” Luke leaned in to whisper. “You’re gunna smash it. You’ve got this.” 

Michael took the guitar and took a minute strumming a few chords, getting a feel for the new instrument. Then he leaned into the mic. 

“Um. Hi.” 

The audience responded with wild cheers. 

“Ok,” Michael finally smiled, finally eased his shoulders down, “this is Jet Black Heart.”

The first notes were a surprise, something Luke had never heard.

“Everybody's got their demons. Even wide awake or sleeping. I’m the one who ends up leaving. Make it ok.”

Luke was offstage by now, watching from the same place Michael had come from. The song grew into what Luke knew, but more, stronger. Michael fit right there, lit to his core in front of a crowd. 

By the time he reached the bridge, it was clear, it was no ordinary song. 

“The blood in my veins is made up of mistakes. Let’s forget who we are and dive into the dark.” 

When the last note faded, the sounds of the crowd swelled again, louder than ever before. They roared and stomped. Their arms were all thrown in the air. Michael came back to himself, swayed back from the mic and then into it again. 

“Thank you.” He said. Then he was making his way to Luke, lifting the guitar to give back. 

Luke accepted it but stepped in closer. “Stay for the rest of the show?”

Michael nodded slowly. There were still cheers. Luke ran back to the center. 

“Let’s hear it one more time for Michael!” They ramped back up and when it calmed, Luke ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t really know how to follow that. But I’ll do my best.”

There was laughter. Luke began his next song. At one point he looked over to where Michael had been. He wasn’t standing there anymore. Luke was hoping he’d gone to the bar or to watch from the audience. But when his set was over it became clear. Michael had left. 

Two shows later, Luke was leaving the venue at 2 am when he heard his name called from somewhere behind him. It was becoming less uncommon for fans to wait outside for him though it didn’t feel any less weird. But when he turned, it was the boy from the interrupted show, jogging to catch up to him then holding up his hands when Luke shrank away. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I was hoping I could find you.”

“What do you want?” Luke asked, already too far away from security.

“I want to talk. About Michael.” He didn’t look as imposing in the dim lights of the street, smaller bundled into a coat and hat without his muscles on show. “I should say first though. Look, man, I’m really sorry about yelling at you at that show. I was just so shocked to hear you singing Michael’s song. I could’ve handled that better.”

“It’s ok,” Luke said slowly, “you were right. Everything you said.” 

“I saw a video of him singing with you last week. I’ve been keeping an eye on you, trying to keep up with what you’ve been doing. When I saw him singing. Just. How is he? Do you know where he is?” 

“I’ve only seen him that time. I ran into him on the street. I didn’t know he was coming to the show for sure until he showed up. And I haven’t seen him since.” Luke shook his head regretfully. “Are you Calum? He said you were probably Calum.”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Calum twisted his hair anxiously around one fist of fingers. “I’m so worried about him. It’s getting so cold. Did he say? Where he’s been sleeping? Or. Did he seem like he’s been eating enough?” 

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. He didn’t seem like he had a good coat. And he was awful skinny.” 

“Oh Fuck. Jesus.” Calum started shaking out a cigarette like he needed to do something to calm his nerves. “Do you mind?” he held up the lit end of the cigarette. 

“No.” Luke picked at his chipped nails. “How long has he been…” 

“Living rough?” Calum took a long drag on the cigarette. “Maybe like 6 months? Before that he had a place for a while. Pretty shitty one but. Something. We lost touch. I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t. And then I went back there and he was gone.” 

“Why?” Luke asked. “What happened to him?”

Calum looked away. “I don’t want to say anything he wouldn’t want, you know?”

“I get that.” Luke always felt scooped out in the aftermath of a show, his face still painted with glitter, wearing his fancy boots, standing on the street talking to a stranger at 2 am. All this was difficult for his brain to process. 

“Maybe, just, if you see him again? You could tell him to call me? Or come see me? I live with Ashton now, he’ll know where. I won’t ask anything of him. I just want to know he’s ok.”

“I don’t think I’ll see him again.” Luke admitted. “It was total chance, running into him again last week. And it had been months since I saw him before that.”

“I know. I know I’m grasping at straws. But.” Calum gave a little frantic shrug. “What else am I supposed to do, you know? He’s my best friend.”

“I’ll keep my eyes out.” Luke stepped back. 

“Ok, thank you.” Calum ground out the cigarette. “It sounded good, didn’t it? Jet Black Heart? You get it now, right?”

“Yeah. I do.” 

“Here,” Calum took a card out his pocket. “In case you need to get a hold of me.”

Luke looked down at the card. It was generic white, said Calum Hood, with his phone number in tiny black print. 

“Ok.”

“Thank you,” Calum said again, and then turned to go.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I supposed to put something here??? Im halfway through my 3rd story on here and I still have no idea what I'm doing.

Luke started carrying granola bars in his pockets, stopping at every homeless person he saw. Just to check. But also because it meant something different to him now, seeing a person hungry and cold, knowing they might have someone like Calum desperate to know they’re ok. That they might have something like Jet Black Heart choked up inside their lungs. He crossed the street when he saw them. He walked under bridges and checked the ends of subway platforms. 

It was almost 2 months before he came across Michael again. 

He was curled up in a dirty sleeping bag in the relative safety from the winter wind provided by the doorway of a closed salon, apparently asleep even though it was mid-morning. Luke wasn’t even sure it was him at first until he crouched down next to him, seeing the little bit of his face showing above the sleeping bag and through a mess of dirty hair. 

“Michael?” he whispered hesitantly. He felt petrified for a moment, couldn't see any sign Michael was breathing. He reached out to put his hand on Michael’s shoulder. 

He woke up immediately, frantically pulling away, curling up even smaller. His eyes were open wide, his breath gasping in so sharp it sounded painful. 

“It’s ok. It’s just me. Luke. I’m Luke. Remember me?” Luke lay his whole body down on the cold sidewalk, his head even with Michaels. He watched the realization come into Michael’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to make sure you were. Alright.” He stopped himself from saying alive. 

“I’m ok.” Michael’s voice sounded shot to pieces, scratchy and rough. He slowly pushed himself up to his elbows and then to a sitting position with what looked like superhuman effort. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of both shaking hands. 

“Hey,” Luke tried to keep his voice entirely normal, not pitying or condescending. “I never said thank you for coming and singing at my gig that time. Would you come to breakfast with me, as a thank you?” 

Michael shook his head, his eyes on his lap. “I can’t go inside restaurants.”

“That’s ok. Then how ‘bout. I live just down the street here. You could come up to my place, I could make breakfast. I’m not much good at cooking. But I could do scrambled eggs. Coffee? Maybe toast-”

“What do you want from me?” Michael interrupted harshly. 

Luke started to say, nothing, nothing, but on second thought, “I was thinking. I really like how you put together Jet Black Heart. And I’ve written some music but I’ve never been brave enough to play any of it live. Maybe you could give it a listen? Tell me what you think?”

Michael was quiet for a long moment, then finally “ok.”

He got up just as slowly, rolled up his sleeping bag after extracting a backpack from inside the bottom. He tied it with some string in a quick, efficient move before Luke could even offer to help. 

“This way,” Luke said, walking slowly to keep Michael with him. “Hey, where’s your guitar?” He regretted asking instantly.

Michael shrugged one shoulder. “I hawked it.”

“Oh,” Luke swallowed, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok.” 

But it wasn’t. It clearly wasn’t. Michael’d been skinny before, yes, dirty and underdressed for the weather, certainly. But with the guitar he’d at least had something precious and his. But now. 

Michael stopped abruptly on the sidewalk. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that. You can’t look at me like that if I’m coming to your place for breakfast. I’m not your project. You're not my white knight. Put your savior complex somewhere else, I don’t want it.”

Other than singing, it was most Luke had ever heard him say. And with his voice rasping out of him, it clearly cost him to say it.

“Ok,” Luke tried to rearrange his face. “How’s this? Is this look better?”

Michael snorted a laugh. “Yeah. That’s better.” 

“This is my place. Right here.” Luke led the way over to it, up the stairs to his apartment on the second floor. Inside, they toed off their shoes, Luke’s heavy boots and Michael’s old holey sneakers. 

Luke headed into the kitchen. “So, do you like eggs? Coffee?”

“Yes, please.” Michael had followed, sat down on one of the kitchen table’s chairs. 

Luke broke the eggs, enough for both of them, stirred in milk and salt and pepper while the skillet heated up and melted butter on the stove. He wanted to offer Michael something, a shower, the use of his washing machine, but he didn’t know what constituted a savior complex so he just poured water into his coffee machine, ground the beans, flicked on the switch to start it percolating, said nothing. 

When he sat down with two plates of food, Michael took his silverware, ate a small bite. “I like your Green Day poster,” he said carefully, almost like he was apologizing for his outburst on the street. 

“Thanks. You like Green Day?”

“Sure. American Idiot was. Do people still say dope?” He grinned at Luke, took a swallow of coffee. 

Something tightened in Luke’s chest so unexpectedly it was almost painful. 

“Sure. Dope. I say dope. If anything still deserves it, it’s American Idiot.”

“What else do you like? You were singing Zeppelin at your show. You like them?”

Talking about music took them through eating the strange, late breakfast. Michael had opinions about everything and the more coffee he drank, the more he shared them. 

It was nice. Luke even stopped noticing the way Michael couldn’t relax, how his eyes darted every which way, the fingers of one hand still clenched around one strap of his backpack. 

After eating, Luke led Michael into the living room. He took out his acoustic guitar. His palms were sweating, more nervous for this than singing in front of any crowd. 

“I never sang anything original for anyone.” Luke said to explain his nervous fingers. 

“It gets easier the more you do it.” Michael had sat in the big chair closest to the couch. He smelled like unwashed human and Luke wondered for the hundredth time if he should’ve offered up his shower. “Just start with something and you’ll get used to it.”

So Luke played the opening chords of a song he’d written years ago, that he knew like the back of his hand. Halfway through, when he looked up, Michael was leaning in close, eyes intent. 

“Keep going,” he said, “it’s good. Keep playing.”

“Um, I should tell you,” he said, though it was obviously the wrong time, with no clear segway.

“Yeah?” Michael said. 

“I had a show a while ago. And afterward, your friend Calum came and found me.” 

Michael fingers holding his bag tightened again. “What did he tell you about me?”

“Nothing! He said it wasn’t up to him to tell me anything about you. And he’s right. But I didn’t think it’d be right of me not to tell you I talked with him. He asked me to tell you, if I saw you again, which I didn’t think I would, but he said to tell you, he’d like you to call him, if you can. Or go see him. He lives with someone named Ashton now. He said you’d know who that is.” 

Michael’s eyes went hazy and distant, staring at something Luke couldn’t see. He was quiet for so long Luke was well into panicking. Then he said, as if the subject had never been broached, “Here, play that verse again. I’ll do harmony.”

An hour of singing later, Michael got up. 

“I should get going.”

The panic reared up again. 

“Can’t you stay?” 

“No.” 

Luke walked him back to the door, watched him pull on those old shoes. 

“Come sing it with me.” He said desperately. “Friday, Corner Bar again. It’s better with you on harmony. Come sing with me. You could do Jet Black Heart again. We could do the Zeppelin cover you like.”

“I shouldn’t,” Michael adjusted his backpack over his shoulders. 

“This isn’t a savior complex, I swear. I like singing with you. It sounds good. That’s it. I won’t ask you anything. I won’t talk about Calum. Say you’ll come.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Think about it,” Luke opened his door even though everything in him said it was wrong to let Michael go back into the cold. “8:00, Corner Bar. Think about it and then come.” 


	5. Chapter 5

He didn’t come. 

He wasn’t at the show Friday or the next show or the one after that. Luke kept looking for him but it was almost immediately clear that he wasn’t going to come. Luke was walking home from a night out a few weeks later, past 2 am but he figured the walk would be good for him. There were a huddle of men on the street in front of him and he didn’t think anything of it until they spread out to block his way. They all had hoods up, faces obscured. 

Shit. Luke thought. Shit, shit. It was too late to turn back. 

“Hey, man,” the closest one said. He lifted up his shirt, showing a knife sticking out his waistband. The street was empty and quiet. “Got any money on ya?”

“Yeah, I’ve got some.” Luke pulled out his wallet, handed over a couple bills rolled together, mostly ones.

“Got a phone?” The man was clearly not satisfied. 

“Yeah.” 

“Hand it over.” 

He reluctantly pulled it out. 

“I like your coat,” he said, his voice sounding like a grin. “We’ll have that too.” 

Luke was getting annoyed. “Seriously?” 

“Know what, I’ll take your boots too. Look like they’re worth something.”

“Look, I live like half a mile away. How am I supposed to get home without shoes?”

“That’s your problem, isn’t it.” He pulled the knife out, the sharp point glinting. “You can give them to us or we can take them. Your choice.” 

Luke shrugged out of his warm jacket. After a moment of hesitation, unlaced his boots and kicked them over. If a car had come, or a person been in the distance, he might have made a break for it. But the street was so so empty. 

“That’s it.” The men turned to go. “Have a good night.” One yelled over his shoulder. 

Luke watched them disappear, considered going back the way he’d come, to the closed down bar. But there was no guarantee he’d find anyone to help. So he started walking towards home. At least he still had his gloves on, a hat covering his ears, he thought as the wind kicked up around him. He hugged his arms around himself, rubbing at his frozen arms. He’d never been so cold. 

The real problem was his feet. He realized a few blocks on he couldn’t feel his toes. His feet felt like blocks of lead, every step an impossible struggle. He sat down heavily on some apartment steps. I’ll just rest for a minute, he thought blearily. I’ll be ready to keep going after I sit for a minute. He closed his eyes, even though some distant part of his brain was clamoring against the notion that this could be a good idea. There was something bad, bad, bad about stopping but Luke couldn’t think of what it might be. 

Suddenly, someone was shaking his shoulders roughly. 

“Luke! Luke! Wake up, wake up!” 

He jerked awake. There were a pair of green eyes right in his face. He didn’t know how much time had passed. 

“Jesus Christ, you fucking idiot. You can’t fall asleep. What are you doing? Where are your shoes?” 

It was Michael. Michael, unzipping his sleeping bag, wrapping it tightly around Luke’s shoulders. Michael, pulling out pairs of socks from his backpack, bundling up Luke’s feet, clasping his hands around them. 

“Luke? Stay with me now. Stay awake. What happened?”

“I was...mugged.” Luke managed. His voice slurred like he’d been drinking. 

“Shit. Bastards. Who takes someone’s shoes? Jesus.”

“Ha. I woke you up, you woke me up. Nice. Symmetry.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Michael grabbed Luke’s arm, pulled him to standing, “come on. Gotta get you home.” 

“It’s so far.” Luke whined. Their walk was jolting, cockeyed, Michael carrying almost all Luke’s weight somehow. 

“I know it’s far. But we’ll be there soon.” 

Luke must’ve lost some time. When he focused back in, they were climbing the steps to his apartment door. Michael fished the keys out his pocket, levered him up the final set of steps. 

Finally, finally, Michael eased him down onto the couch. He was gone for a second, then returned with an armful of quilts from the bedroom, tucking them all around Luke’s body. Gone, then back again with some warm tea he held up to Luke’s mouth. 

“Drink it, all of it. Come on, it’s good for you.” It felt so good going down his throat. Not too hot, just lukewarm, tasting of peppermint which he hadn’t even known he’d ever bought. He came back to himself enough to take the mug from Michael’s hands, cradling the warmth between his palms. Michael was down at the end of the couch, both hands wrapped around one of his still numb feet. 

“Frostbite’s the worst.” Michael switched feet, “you can feel that shit for years after you had it. Feeling coming back is way worse than losing it.” 

It was true. Luke began to feel the pins and needles stabbing in where they were thawing out. He gasped a little at the sensation, the places Michael’s fingers were pressing in felt like fire. 

“Ow,” he managed, “oh God. Ow.” 

“I know. I know it hurts. It’s gunna be ok. It’s good they’re coming back so quick. That’s a good sign.” Michael leaned his body over Luke’s feet, wrapping his arms around them both. It didn’t make it better, in fact the fire spread all over. Luke gave an aborted sob, tried to hold it together. But now the sobs were wracking out of him. It was about more than cold feet. It was something about how Michael talked about frostbite. His intimate knowledge of what to do. 

“Hey, hey,” Michael shifted up the couch. He put his arms around Luke, setting the emptied mug off to the side. “You’re alright. They didn’t hurt you. Stuff is just stuff. You’re gunna be fine.”

“You, you,” Luke snuffled into Michael’s shoulder, “you sold your guitar.”

Michael stiffened a little but kept rubbing Luke’s back in soothing circles. “I did. But that was months ago.” 

“What happened to you?” Luke whispered. “How can you live like this? I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t ask that. I know. But.”

“Shh.” Michael’s fingers combed through Luke’s curls. “We can talk about it in the morning. Do you want to move to your bed?” 

“Only if you’ll be here in the morning.”

“Ok. I’ll stay.”

“Do you promise?” Luke leaned back to get a good look at his face. Michael’s beard was getting long and tangled. But his eyes looked so green. 

“I promise.” He smoothed Luke’s hair back, tucking it behind his ears. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

He helped Luke up again, still wrapped all around with quilts. He laid back in his bed, holding onto Michael’s hand. “Just stay here. The bed’s big enough. Just sleep here.”

“No,” Michael said firmly, “but I’ll be on the couch. Goodnight, Luke.”

“You promised. You promised.” Luke was already half asleep.

“Yeah, I’ll see you in the morning, Luke.”


	6. Chapter 6

When Luke woke up, it was to the smell of something cooking. It took him a moment to remember what had happened the night before, why he was still wearing his clothes from the previous day. Then, it all came rushing back, Michael getting him home safe, staying the night. 

Luke stumbled in a rush out of bed, unwinding from the blankets wrapped all around him. He made it to the kitchen with only minimal clatter. There Michael was standing at the stove, making pancakes with practiced ease. He smiled up at Luke when he appeared in the doorway. 

“Good morning.” He’d showered at some point, his hair was still damp but lightening to blond as it dried. He’d changed into a striped sweater and sweatpants that must’ve come from his backpack. He’d used Luke’s razor too, his beard was shaved back to barely stubble. He was wearing those black rimmed glasses from the show. He looked clean and comfortable for the first time ever, Luke thought happily. He had continued speaking while Luke was taking this all in. “I found pancake mix in your cupboard. I hope it’s ok.” 

“Of course” Luke said, dazed. 

“I made coffee too,” he gestured with the spalua, “I figured you’d want some.”

“Thanks.” Luke went to get a cup. He sat down at the kitchen table. A minute later Michael sat down across from him, passed over a plate with pancakes. Luke started eating after Michael took a bite. “These are really good.”

“It’s just a mix.”

“Yeah but I mean,” Luke took another bite. “This is way better than what I made for you.” 

“Thanks.” Michael offered him a little smile. “How are your feet?”

“Ok,” Luke flexed them around under the table, “a little, like, sore but not too bad.”

“I used your shower. I hope that’s ok.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course. I was actually going to tell you that you could the first time you were here. But I didn’t know. Like, if you’d like that.”

“Probably wouldn’t’ve.” They ate in silence for a bit. Michael pushed around his last bit of pancake, then pushed the whole plate away. “You asked me, last night, why I’m homeless. I’m ready to talk about it now.”

“You don’t have,” Luke said quickly. 

“I want to. If...do you still want to hear?”

“If you’re really sure you want to tell me.” 

“Ok. Well. The reason I hate talking about it is.” Michael took a careful breath, pulled the sleeves of his sweater up over his hands, “when people see someone homeless, they think one of two things. Either, that person must be a lazy, no good bum. Or that is a sad, traumatized person. And nothing traumatic happened to me so by elimination it must be that I’m a lazy piece of shit.”

He paused. 

“I think you have more to tell me than that.” Luke prompted gently. 

“Well. I’ve always had. Dark days. But there was never any real reason for it. I have good parents. We had a good home together. But in college. I just. I couldn’t. Try. So I dropped out. And it was ok for a while. I kept losing jobs but I’d always get another one. And sometimes, I’d start something and I’d feel good for weeks or even months. And I’d think, I’m better. But then a morning would come when I couldn’t make myself go to work. It’s stupid. I’ve been so lucky my whole life. And suddenly I couldn’t get out of bed.” Michael rubbed angrily, punishingly hard at his eyes.

Luke grabbed his hand. “It’s not stupid. It sucks. But it’s not stupid.”

Michael curled his fingers around Luke’s. “Then, I lost a job and I didn’t even try to get a new one. I just lay in bed until the rent was due. And I couldn’t ask anyone for money because it was my fault. I could’ve made rent but I just. Didn’t. So I packed my stuff. And I just left. At the time, it seemed easiest. I couldn’t take any help from anyone because I shouldn’t’ve needed it.”

“Calum said he fell out of touch with you?”

“That was my fault too.” a few tears had made their way out, trailing slowly down his cheeks. “He called and texted and tried to come by. And I didn’t answer. We’d been friends since we were kids. I didn’t know how to tell him. There’s something wrong with me. But at the same time, there’s nothing wrong with me. Please, please believe,” he squeezed Luke’s hand urgently, “I don’t like living like this. I hate this.”

“I believe you, I do.”

“I don’t know how to be different. I tried everything I could think of.” 

“The blood in my veins is made up of mistakes.” Luke whispered. 

Michael’s head whipped up. “That’s it. That’s it exactly.” 

“Ok,” Luke shook out his shoulders, processed all that information as quickly as he could. “Obviously, I’m no expert on. Well. Anything. But I think the first thing we should agree on is that you and I are friends now. Can we agree on that?”

“Ok,” Michael said, voice tremulous. 

“So now when I say I’m going to help you, we’re going to figure this out, you can’t get mad at me, you can’t call it a savior complex, because” he raised his voice over Michael’s protests, “it’s what I would do for any friend, ok?”

“Ok.” Michael finally said again. 

“Now, let’s not get overwhelmed. It’s too much if we look at it all at once. So, let’s start with just one thing. What do you want the most? What would help you the most, right now?” 

Michael rubbed his thumb over the back of Luke’s hand, contemplating. He was quiet a long time. 

“I’d like to see Calum. I miss him.” 

“That’s great. That’s like, totally attainable. You know where he lives right? He said you did.”

“Yeah.” 

“Ok, so I’ll go take a shower and get changed and then we’ll go see him.” Luke slowly let go of Michael’s hand, stood up. 

“Are you sure?” Michael asked. “I know I’m not. Of everyone out there I don’t deserve-”

“No one should be homeless.” Luke interrupted. “Not one single person deserves that. And definitely not you. You’re not going to disappear, are you? You won’t leave while I’m in the shower?”

“No,” Michael ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll clean up breakfast.”

“Well, I would feel bad, you doing that and making it both. But also, I want you to have a reason to stay while I’m in the shower.” 

That surprised a laugh out of Michael. “Go. Shower. I’ll be here.” 


	7. Chapter 7

It took them two buses to get to Calum’s, using change Luke scrounged up from the junk drawer in his kitchen, his bedside table, down between the cushions of his couch. He dug out his old winter coat and talked Michael into borrowing the coat he saved for dressy occasions, job interviews and funerals. It was long, knee length, double breasted, made with black wool. Luke couldn’t help the way he kept glancing over at Michael in it, hoping he wouldn’t notice. 

Outside what was apparently Calum’s apartment Michael pulled to a stop. 

“What if he’s mad at me?”

Luke thought of Calum yelling at him at his show but couldn’t picture a scene like that happening with Michael after he’d seen him pulling at his hair in worry.

“I don’t know.” He finally said, “you’re the one who knows him. Do you think he’ll be mad?”

“Yeah,” Michael said. “But.” He blew out a breath. “Ok, let’s do this.”

Luke pressed the buzzer next to where it said Hood/Irwin on the 3rd floor. 

“Who is it?” A voice said.

Michael didn’t say anything so Luke leaned in again. “Um. Luke? That musician guy?”

A silence, then the door buzzing open.

They were about to climb the second set of stairs when there was the sound above them of a door flying open, steps running down and then Calum appeared. He skidded to halt, took in Luke then Michael standing behind him and flew down to the landing. His arms were thrown around Michael, holding on so tight. Michael gasped a little in surprise then his arms came up around Calum. They swayed a little at the force of it. Luke could see one of Calum’s hands pressing into Michael’s shoulder blades, the other on the back of his neck. 

“Cal,” Michael finally said, voice muffled by being pressed into Calum’s chest. No response. “Cal, how long is this hug going to go on?”

“Forever,” Calum muttered. “Forever and ever. You disappeared for like 10 months, I get to decide how long we’re hugging.”

“Ok,” Michael laughed a little. “That seems fair.”

“Can it at least happen inside our apartment then?” a new voice said, from the top of the stairs. Irwin, Luke thought, probably. 

“Fine.” Calum reluctantly pulled away. They climbed the rest of the way to the 3rd floor. Irwin held out his arms to Michael. 

“That was my cunning ploy to get you to myself.” 

“Diabolical.” Michael went obediently. When he pulled away, he looked at Luke. “Luke, this is Ashton. Ash, this is my friend, Luke.”

Luke pushed down the warm feeling at being called his friend. He shook hands with Ashton. 

“Come on, come sit down.” Ashton led them over to the kitchen table. “Are you hungry? Can I make you something?”

“I’m ok.” Michael said. The other two looked at him unconvinced. “Luke let me crash with him last night so I’m good. We just had breakfast a bit ago. 

It was technically true Michael had stayed with him, but not anything like the whole night. The gratitude filled eyes being pointed at him by Calum and Ashton were wholly unearned. Especially when he remembered that it was Michael who had saved him from freezing to death, Michael who had got him home safe. 

“Where do you usually sleep? When you’re not at Luke’s?” Calum asked. 

Michael shrugged one shoulder uncomfortably. “Different places.”

“Well,” Calum said, “when Ash and I moved in together, it became real obvious pretty quick that we didn’t need two bedrooms-”

“I knew it.” Michael threw his head back, laughing, “didn’t I know it? Didn’t I say?”

“Yes, yes, you’re very smart,” Calum dismissed this, “my point is. We have an extra bedroom. And if you want it, it’s yours.”

“Oh.” Michael swallowed heavily. 

“You don’t have to say anything. But. It’s always open. Whenever you might want it.” Ashton said. 

“Come and see,” Calum stood up and pulled Michael to standing. “I still have that fifa poster hanging up in there that I had in my room growing up. Ashton hates it.” 

They went off down the hallway. Ashton got up and went into the kitchen. “Here, let’s give them some time together, eh? I’m going to cook something anyway. You can help.”

“I’m not really good at cooking.”

“You can grate cheese, right? Everyone can grate cheese.” Ashton handed him a block of cheese and grater. They worked quietly next to each other for a moment. Then, “you don’t know what it means to him, having Michael here. Thank you.” He said it almost under his breath. 

“It’s ok.” 

“No.” Ashton caught his eye. “Michael’s our friend. We’ve missed him like crazy, both of us. But especially Calum.”

“Yeah,” Luke looked pointedly at his pile of grated cheese. “I just want him to be ok.”

“Me too.” 

When Calum and Michael reappeared, they all pretended not to notice how red their eyes were. Everyone pitched in to make dinner, gathering finally around the table. Ashton told stories about the kids he taught music to and Calum and Michael reminisced about growing up together. When it was getting dark, Luke got up. 

“I should go.” He still had to file a police report, go get a new phone. 

“I’ll walk you out.” Michael stood with him. 

On the stairs, Luke said, “so you’re staying here tonight?”

“Yeah,” Michael smiled a little, “Calum’s probably never going to let me out of his sight again.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

They reached the door. 

Michael grabbed his arm, stopped him. “Oh, shit, you probably want your coat back.” 

“You can wear it for a while.” Luke said quick as he could. “It looks nice on you.” 

Michael looked at him intently, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to Luke’s cheek. Luke’s hand went up immediately to touch the spot Michael’s mouth had been, feeling the lingering warmth. 

“Oh,” he managed dumbly. 

“Did I not read it right? I thought I had but it’s been a long time.”

“No, you did,” Luke assured him. “I just didn’t think you’d feel the same.”

“Well. I do.”

“So maybe I could get a new phone and call Calum and he could give the phone to you and I could ask you on a date?”

“I’d like that.” Michael's smile was enormous, then dimmed. “But maybe, I mean. I’d understand if you wanted to wait for me to get my shit together.”

“We can wait if you want to. But I don’t need that. I like you already. I like you right now.”

Michael looked down, scuffed his shoes a little, looked up at Luke shyly through his eye lashes. “I like you right now, too.” 

“Ok. So I’ll call you?” 

“You’ll call Calum.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “I’ll call you by way of Calum.”

“Ok.” 

Luke stepped back. “Hey. Do you feel that?”

“What?” Michael was still smiling.

“The chemicals, man.”

“What?”

“The chemicals moving between us.”

“Oh my God. Stop.” He covered his face with his hands.

“Is it a reason? To start again?”

“I’m literally begging you to stop.” But he was laughing. 

“Ok. Good night.” Luke leaned in and kissed Michael’s cheek. It seemed only fair, to even the score. 

He was walking away when Michael called his name. 

“Luke! It is a reason!” He was leaning out of the door, “It is a reason to start again.”

Luke retraced his path, running up the steps, kissing Michael right there, right on the mouth, kissed him until they were both breathless, until Calum yelled out the window, “Get a room!” 

They broke apart laughing. 

“Wow. That song really gets you going, huh?” Michael was grinning so big. 

“What can I say? It’s a great song.”

“Christ, go home already.”

Luke held up both hands. “Ok, ok. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Michael said. He looked so different under the gentle lights of the apartment building, soft and happy. Luke couldn’t believe he was there, after all the months of looking for Michael, that somehow they’d made their way to this place together. 

He backed up a few more steps. 

“Get out of here!” Calum yelled out the window, “I want my friend back upstairs!”

Luke flipped him off over his head. “Goodnight,” he said one more time, before turning and heading off back home. Michael was safe, he would sleep at Calum’s, warm and happy and fed and surrounded by people who loved him. And then Luke could call him tomorrow.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a little epilogue! I hope you enjoyed this story. Much love.

A few months later

Luke was working on a riff for a new song when his phone rang, showing the picture Michael had set for himself, sticking out his tongue and doing a peace sign. 

“Hey sweetheart,” Luke grinned as he answered, “I was just thinking about you.”

“Hey,” Michael sounded subdued, dull. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I’m having a bad day.” 

“Oh love, I’m sorry.” Luke set aside his guitar. 

“Yeah.” 

“Do you want to cancel our date tonight?”

“No!” Michael’s voice rose, broke in the middle of the single small word.

“Then how about I’ll put on something comfy, get some pizza and we’ll just hang out on your couch, watch something. Do you want to do that?” 

“I guess,” Michael finally whispered. 

“It’s ok, sweetheart, I don’t mind. We can go out anytime.”

“It’s just.” Luke could hear Michael trying to keep it together. “Why do I have to be the one always falling to pieces, depending on everyone else to prop me up? Why is it me?”

“Well. I don’t know if you’ll remember this, but there was that time when I was literally freezing to death? And you found me and got me home safe?”

“That wasn’t your fault.” 

“And this isn’t yours.”

Michael made a sound through the phone, a sob caught in his throat. “I was doing so well.”

“You still are. Your therapist said this would probably happen, remember? Speaking of, did you call her?”

“Yeah. She said, like, to remind myself that my brain tells me lies. Not to let all the catastrophic thinking spiral, just keep saying, I’ll get through this and feel good again. And then she said I should call you.”

“I knew I liked her. I’m glad she’s the one you picked.” 

“Me too.” He paused, then, “Luke?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you. Do you still like me right now?”

“Oh. Yeah. I like you right now. In fact, I think I like you more right now than when I already liked you before we went on our first date. Now that I know how many pictures you take with your tongue sticking out.”

Michael sniffed a little, the tiniest snuffle of a laugh. “That’s a weird reason to like someone, Hemmings.” 

“It’s one of many reasons. Just the first one that came to mind. Do you still like me right now too?”

“Of course. Even with knowing how many shitty reality shows you watch.”

“Hey!” Luke laughed. “It’s cathartic!” 

“Tomorrow maybe I’ll feel good again.” Michael whispered. 

“Yeah, and if not, that’ll be ok too. We’ll put on some old cartoons and eat cereal on Calum’s couch.”

“That would be good.” 

Luke got up and started heading towards his room to change out of his button down shirt into something cozy and warm. “So, I’ll see you in like an hour?”

“Ok.”

“Good. See you soon, love.”

“Bye.”

Luke hung up the phone and changed. He could pick up a pizza on the way. On impulse, he brought his guitar. Maybe Michael would want to hear the song he’d been working on. Maybe he’d want to sing harmony. And if he didn’t, that would be ok, too. Luke could sing it on his own. Michael could join in when he was ready. 


End file.
